


Release Me

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: BDSM, M/M, No actual sex, Riding Crop, Spanking, Stancest - Freeform, Top!Stan, belt, bottom!Ford, just emotional release, not quite a relationship but these brothers are way too flirty for platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been months, but Ford still can’t stop thinking of his torture at the hands of Bill, and he knows why. Deep down Ford wants to be punished for his deeds and he always has. Faced with long months at sea to consider his options, Ford finally comes to his brother with an unusual request…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release Me

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by the lovely ficksuck on tumblr! She asked for a BDSM scene with top!Stan and bottom!Ford dealing with Ford’s guilt issues, specifying the implements and that Ford had to be tied down. She also requested that there not be any sex, which is fine by me since I don’t write full on smut, I’m all about them emotions baby. This is actually the first full on BDSM scene I’ve ever written, though it’s still in line with my usual work. 
> 
> Sorry it took so long! This was written over several weeks and I finally just managed to crank it out. I also apologize for any typos or spelling errors– of particular note, my N key sensitivity has been going lately, so if you notice any missing Ns… er, sorry! I tried my best to catch them but this has taken forever as is.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Ford was pretty sure he’d lost his mind.

This had to be the turning point. Not the months he’d spent locked away in the shack, jumping at everything and anything. Not the time he’d spent captive in the grasp of the unspeakable, fighting to keep his wits about him as horror dissolved him to a gibbering mess. No, this was infinitely worse than that, he was relatively sure.

He couldn’t stop thinking about being tortured by Bill.

At first he’d thought it was just post-traumatic stress, and well, that would make sense. The memories seemed constant, a spark making him flinch, the flash of lighting behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes to sleep. The very thought of the demon made him ill, the memory of that voice twisting in his stomach as something sour and awful. The thought of how close he’d come to losing everything sat heavy alongside it, weighing him down as a stone.

But with that weight came the memory of the pain flashing through his system, and confusingly enough, that was what stuck with him most. Agony coursing through him, his body a livewire, nerves raw and frayed. His breath coming out in heaving gasps as he strained at his bonds, the shackles white hot brands on his wrists. It wasn’t that it was pleasurable, because of course it wasn’t— pleasure wasn’t the point. It wasn’t that Ford enjoyed pain necessarily. Still, in some way it had felt like penance, something well deserved for the man responsible for everything, and that was something Ford couldn’t let go. He’d hung there, shaking from pain, blood in his mouth and the scent of his own burning hair in his nose, and all he’d felt was a sort of grim satisfaction because it felt like something had clicked.

But then it was over. In spite of his smug comments, in spite of his hubris, in spite of everything that had happened, the world was saved. Not by his inventions, not by anything of his own doing or any of his notes and research, but by his brother. Ford held the world in his hands and he nearly destroyed it. Stan took his mess on his shoulders and in an instant the deed was done.

The world was saved and all Ford could feel on the subject was failure.

Really, he hadn’t done anything, had he? His life’s work had only made problems, huge problems, the sort of problems most could only imagine in science fiction or a comic book. His efforts to guide his nephew had nearly torn apart a relationship, to say nothing of his own issues with his brother. And of course, speaking of his brother…

Things were better now. He knew that, logically. The world was saved. The kids were okay and making their way through a final year of middle school. Stanley was relatively fine. After years spent estranged their relationship, like Stanley’s mind, was on the mend. All it had taken was one battle with a raging kraken to realize to his brother at his side was what Ford’s research had been missing all along, and it was good, it really was. Stan deserved it. After years of suffering and abuse and fractured self esteem his brother deserved everything, a good life, a loving family, nothing but happiness.

Ford didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve the flash of wonder he felt at each new oddity. He didn’t deserve the sound of his own laughter in his ears, mixing with Stanley’s long into the night. He didn’t deserve the warmth in his chest with every emoji-littered email and skype call with his grandniece and nephew, not after he’d gotten so close to getting them killed. He didn’t deserve it at all.

All Stanford Pines wanted was to be punished and the world seemed determined to deny him of that.

So of course, Ford did some research, because if he was going to be stuck on this thought he may as well work out what was wrong with him. It did not take long to find there were plenty of people with similar desires, though undoubtedly with drastically different reasons. It wasn’t that he was a masochist, he was fairly certain he did not derive pleasure from pain, but the desire for punishment wasn’t exactly a foreign concept. BDSM, bondage, dominance and submission, sadomasochism. Easy enough acronym, the simplicity of which did not seem to reflect the rabbit hole Stanford discovered in his night watch google searches.

Interests were varied in ways he could not have even begun to imagine, but Ford couldn’t deny the attraction. He’d gaze longingly at bodies strung up and trussed tight, skin reddened and bruised like paint on a canvas. He felt his face heat up as he listened to gasps and cries of pain with his headphones on and the sound of the videos dialed down as low as his laptop would allow, torn between shame and a deep, impossible longing.

Finally after several months, Ford couldn’t take window shopping anymore. The guilt was too strong, bile in his throat threatening to rise and spew out at any moment. He had to act, though he was’t sure how.He tried himself, tried tying ropes too tight on his wrists and slapping absently at his thighs in the dead of night, but of course the effect was nonexistent. The idea of hiring a dom was horrifying to him, to trust someone who he didn’t know at all with such an intimate thing seemed the very picture of insanity. But Ford had always been so solitary and had never been particularly close to anyone…

Anyone, that is, except Stanley.

The thought had come to him abruptly while the two of them had been adjusting the boat for landing, something which he blamed entirely on the way Stan handled the ropes. The rough material coiled around his brother’s hands expertly, slide over callouses as Stan grunted and tugged, and all of the sudden Ford was red-faced and transfixed. It had taken his brother’s words to snap him out of it, and even then that was only enough to get Ford to continue working as truly awful thoughts continued to buzz through his brain.

It wasn’t like he wanted anything… wrong, necessarily. Stanley was his brother after all, and while their relationship at its best had always been unconventional, Ford had always blamed it on their upbringing and left it at that. And it wasn’t like this was sexual, not really, though Ford could not deny the pang of excitement. He just… he had to be punished. He needed it, and who better to do it than his brother who he’d wronged in the first place?

That didn’t make the question any less awkward or Stan’s initial, gaping reaction any less embarrassing.

“You want me to…. _what_?” Stan sputtered.

Ford looked to the sea, the sky, the deck, anywhere but his twin, trying to ignore the way his face burned against the frigid cold of the arctic air. “Punish me,” He ground out. Saying it once had been bad enough and quite frankly he wished it would be enough, but he should have known that wouldn’t be the case.

“Punish you,” Stan repeated slowly.

His brother gave a frustrated groan and smacked a gloved hand to his face. “This is insane,” He grumbled into his palms, then sighed as he ran said palms over his face and into his hair. “Ever since Weirdmagedon I’ve felt… wrong. I caused so many problems, Stanley. For you, for the kids, for the whole world… so much could have bee averted if I hadn’t let my own pride get in the way. Hell, you’re still suffering the consequences for my stupid decisions.”

“Hey, that was my choice,” Stan growled back, shoulders stiffening. “And it takes two to argue, it ain’t like you’re the only one responsible.”

Ford shook his head. “It’s not the same and you know it. I just… I did so many things. And no one ever said anything about it, no one…” The words caught in his throat and he swallowed. He didn’t want to discuss it, not really, it was too hard. He shook his head again, cast his gaze out to the sea. “Nevermind, you’re right, this is absurd. I should just—“

There was a hand on his shoulder and Ford blinked in surprise, turning back to see his brother’s smiling face. “Hey, it’s all right, I understand. And if you need someone t’ kick your ass, you know I’m always willing. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Ford met his gaze for a moment. Then he flashed a wry, somewhat pained smile. “Well, it isn’t so much _kicking_ that I’m asking for…”

So they’d discussed it, because of course Ford had to do that. He laid out a plan of attack line by line, worked out the exact date and time they’d be docked. Fortunately, the island they’d ended up was a bit of a tourist trap, so acquiring the items he sought hadn’t been as hard as he thought it’d be. The actual purchase of said items was embaressing, though the woman at the back alley shop he’d braved was perfectly kind and patient with his stutters. The hotel room purchase had been equally simple, though he’d been at a loss for what to say when the man at the front desk inquired about the occasion.

“Honeymoon,” Stan chipped in helpfully as Ford’s face steamed.

The man at the front desk blinked, eyes flicking between the two of them for a moment before he grinned. “Well, we’ll be sure to give you two some privacy then.”

Ford sputtered.

“Thanks, we’ll need it.” Stan winked.

Several hours later had the two standing somewhat awkwardly in their hotel room, Stan whistling as he glanced around. “Y’know, for a guy who spends all his time on a boat, you sure are a fan of the cheesy nautical theme,” He drawled, nudging his foot against the heavy chest at the foot of the only bed.

“I wanted something spacious so you’d have room to swing,” Ford grumbled as he refiled through the bag he’d placed on the bed. Here he paused, taking a deep breath that masked the clink of metal against metal. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Sure I do,” Stan replied without missing a beat,  shrugging his coat onto a chair and tossing his beanie on top of it. He combed his fingers through his mullet as he looked back to Ford. “Like I’d ever miss the chance to beat your sorry ass… really, you’re the one I should be asking if you still wanna do this.” His grin was teasing but his eyes were warm.

Ford’s mouth was somewhat dry, but he nodded, fists clenching. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“All right. You wanna do this now? ‘Cause it can wait if you—“

His brother shook his head and with a clatter of chains he pulled shackles from the bag. “Now and as we discussed,” He said curtly, turning and holding them out to his brother.

Though he had seemed calm before, Stan’s expression became one of nervousness as his gaze flicked to the chains. “Not gonna do this halfway, are ya, Sixer?” He breathed out as he took them.

Ford frowned. “Stanley, if it’s too much, you don’t have to—“

It was Stan’s turn to shake his head, though his cheeks were reddening somewhat. “I already told ya, I ain’t passing up the chance to beat your ass.”

“Very well. Could you stretch those out on the floor for me and move that chest over there on top of them?”

Stan’s brow furrowed. “What, is the bed not spicy enough for ya?” He asked as he placed the shackles in question on the floor, stretching the chains out. They were actually rather lengthy and plenty of chain still poked out when he heaved the empty, rustic chest the couple of feet necessary to go on top of them.

“Yes, actually,” Ford muttered over the sound of Stan’s grunts. He carefully laid out the implements necessary so they were within reach, then checked his brother’s handiwork. His stomach twisted, a confusing mixture of excitement and fear as he lightly nudged the chest and noted its refusal to budge. “This is sturdier than I thought. Your strength is remarkable for your age, Stanley,” He remarked, eyebrows rising.

“Wow, that was almost a compliment,” Stan said dryly but clearly could not keep the grin from his face at his brother’s words.

Ford took note of it— did he really compliment his brother so little? He’d have to change that, and he filed that information for later as he tugged at the cuffs. “This should be fine,” He nodded to himself, satisfied by their tightness.

Then came the awkward silence. The brothers took turns looking to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but each other, Stan rubbing his neck awkwardly, Ford clearing his throat. “So…” Stan finally drawled out slowly, looking to his brother for some kind of direction.

Ford gave a sigh. He couldn’t say he was surprised— between the two of them, it was usually Ford who took initiative, Ford who took the lead. For all his bluster, they were both aware Stan was usually more comfortable following Ford, not the other way around. Perhaps this wouldn’t work the way Ford hoped. “I did say now and as we discussed, Stanley. Ideally that means you’re in charge now… I mean, if you’re not—“

Stan shook his head and something in him seemed to solidify. “So, d’ya want those clothes off now or do I have to get you out of them?” It was a command disguised as a question, Stan’s tone closer to the one Ford remembered from upstairs in the Shack than their childhood.

He could not help but feel a bit taken aback— he’d wanted this of course, and some part of him jumped at the tone, but this was quickly squished down by his feelings in regard to clothes. This time it was Ford’s turn to blush and he looked away. “I’m not sure I’m… _comfortable_ with removing more than necessary… and even then, I—“

It was too embarrassing. Even now in this moment, faced with something he’d been longing for,it seemed impossible to submit so willingly.

Stan nodded and walked over, taking hold of Ford’s coat and sliding it from his brother’s shoulders with surprising gentleness. “All right then. C’mon, bend over. Don’t make me tell ya twice.” His voice remained gentle and slightly joking as he kept a hand between Ford’s shoulder blades, lightly pushing him across the room. It was a simple movement to tip Ford over the chest, a firm hand lingering on his brother’s lower back for a moment as Stan nudged his legs apart with a booted foot.Then that hand ghosted to Ford’s belt.

A jerk, Ford nearly flying off the chest. “No!” Stan’s hand stilled and Ford let out a breath. “Shackles first. I don’t—“ His words caught in his throat but the message continued unspoken.

_I don’t want control over this. Please._

Stan patted his back, then knelt down. There was the sound of clinking metal against metal, followed by something cold pressing through Ford’s pants. There were several more clinking noises, the Stan let out a noise of frustration. Ford frowned. “Stanley, they’re not—“

_Click._ One shackle down. _Click._ Then the other. Ford’s surprised blink was nothing compared to the light yelp he gave when Stan swatted his clothed behind. “Can’t believe you’re giving me lip on how fucking _shackles_ work,” his brother snorted. “I may not remember all of my jailtime anymore, but I’ve still got more experience than you, dumbass.”

Ford smiled wryly as his brother’s face came into view. “Language,” He chided gently.

“Pretty sure I’m allowed to say whatever the fuck I want, Fordsy,” Stan drawled as he squatted down to grab the front shackles now, then closed them over Ford’s wrists. “After all, _I’m_ in charge now.” The words were warm breath in Ford’s face, pushing his bangs from his forehead and misting his glasses slightly. Stan flashed a dangerous grin, the sort Ford remembered from tickle fights and moments before races through yellow lights, and Ford felt something stir in his stomach. “Can ya move?”

There was the clink of chains as Ford jerked in his bonds, but found them firmly holding him in place— not so tight he could not move at all, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

Stan nodded, satisfied. He stood, then walked back around, the sound of his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floor of the hotel room. “Gonna be honest Sixer, this is a pretty good look for you,” Stan said, appreciation in his tone. His fingers went to Ford’s belt, pausing at his brother’s intake of breath, but when there was no denial he finally reached around and undid the clasp with surprising deftness. Off went the belt and the pants and boxers went soon after, peeling away and drawing an unwilling gasp from his victim as cool air hit scarred skin.

There were a few moments of silence and in that moment Ford felt a stab of shame. They’d seen each other unclothed before, certainly, and both were aware of unfamiliar scars mapping out years spent apart. But Ford was always considerably more cautious about removing clothing, preferring to keep these to little more than brief glimpses. Here there was none of that, his lower half laid bare save for where his pants pooled (somewhat humiliatingly) at his ankles. Abruptly he felt aware of every raised spot of skin, every scar, every freckle, and of course the way the shackles forced his legs to spread left little to the imagination. It was not just his desires being laid bare here and if Ford hadn’t felt disgusting before, he certainly did now.

“Damn,” Stan finally murmured. “Would it be wrong t’ say your legs are absolutely _fantastic_?”

Ford let out a laugh that seemed to dislodge some of the tension. “I have a few years and extra pounds that disagree with that.”

Another swat, this time to his bare ass, and Ford yelped, shocked at just how much more it hurt. “ _I_ have some extra pounds that would like t’ argue with your fit old man ass, so shut your yap,” Stan said, though there was still affection in his tone.

Ford let out a huff. “You make it look good.”

Stan chuckled and reached down, stroking Ford’s hair, letting the motion move downward to massage at a tense neck. “Nice try, but ya can’t compliment your way outta a beating, Sixer,” He murmured. “Now tell me, what’s your safe word?”

His brother tensed at this. “We’ve been over this Stanley. The entire point of this is punishment… it’s not a punishment if I can opt out.”

Fingers tightened slightly in Ford’s hair, pulling lightly. “Sixer, if we ain’t doing this right, we ain’t doing it at all.”

Ford grimaced. “Stanley, I don’t—“

“ _Stanford_.”

Ford felt a shudder so intense that he was sure Stan must have felt it as well. “Red means stop, yellow means pause, green means go,” He gasped out.

“That’s more like it,” Stan murmured approvingly before moving away. After a few seconds came the whistle of the riding crop in the air, the light swat of the leather striking flesh. “Ooh!” Stan gave a noise that was somewhere between pain and approval. “That stings! Though I guess that’s kinda the point, huh?” There were a few more practice whistles before Ford felt the cool leather pressing lightly against his bottom, tracing across it. “So. Let’s get down t’ business, eh?” Stan’s voice rang through the air. “What are you here for, Stanford Pines?”

“I…” Ford swallowed, then shook his head. The words were there of course, the constant buzzing of guilt eating away at his stomach, but they would not come to his mouth. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just _say_ it, he couldn’t—

A light tap of the crop against his ass brought the world into focus again, had Ford’s breath catching in his throat. “Hey, pay attention. Why are you here?”

Ford shook his head again. Stan gave a sigh. “All right, if that’s how you want it.”

_Snap!_ The first swat was harder than Ford expected, had his breath catching in his throat from the surprise of it. The second was equally hard, a sharp, quick sting, though after a few moments the pain quieted to a light burn. The blows came in a rain, sharp and sudden without any rhythm or sure placement, seemingly random across his skin. Ford had thought for sure he’d have to goad Stan into actually striking him for real, but no, Stan seemed to at least know how to make the blows sting. Several blows on the same spot had Ford gasping in pain, straining on reflex against his bonds.

“C’mon Ford, let me hear it. Why are you being punished?” Stan pressed again as he laid another strike down.

Ford grimaced, caught his own ensuing cry in his teeth.“You know why,” He grunted out after a moment. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Stan let out another sigh that sounded like it came from his nose. They’d discussed this, of course, but Ford wasn’t surprised that Stan needed some pushing on the subject. “All right. Fine.” The crop traced across Ford’s behind, caressed the barest of aches for a moment before slapping down again. “You’re here because for being a goddamn genius, you were a real dumbass.” Another swat, right on top of the same spot. “You saw the damn warnings, you knew right away what that prophecy was about.” Two swats, again on the same spot, and Ford jolted in his bonds, fought desperately against the shout his tongue longed for. “And it _still_ never occurred to you that one-eyed asshole in your dreams might be bad news?”

The fifth swat on the same spot finally unleashed Ford’s first true shout of pain. “I thought the readings had been wrong!” He gasped out.

“What, you thought you knew better than anyone else who ran into a fucking one-eyed pyramid monster!?” Stan snorted as he brought the crop down again, though this time he mercifully chose a new spot on the same left cheek. “Yeah, okay, t _here’s_ a real reason for a good beating, knucklehead.” He continued to rain smacks down, swatting a single spot several times before repeating the process in a different spot. “You wanna know what got you here, Ford? Your goddamn pride, that’s what. Big genius Ford knows better than anyone else, he’s the only one smart enough to understand, the only one who could possibly be responsible enough to handle _punching a hole in the goddamn universe_!” He punctuated this with several quick swats to the spot where Ford’s ass met his left thigh eliciting a howl of pain from his victim.

“Color, Ford,” Stan pressed bluntly, tone hard.

“G-green,” Ford gasped out, taking a deep, shuddering breath, the noise nearly lost in the clink of metal as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Good,” Stan hummed. The riding crop cracked down again, this time on his right cheek. “‘Cause lemme tell you, after the stunts you’ve pulled, I oughta be whipping you all night. You had warnings Ford, plenty of em! Prophecies! Your own goddamn partner being scarred for life! Proof of your own goddamn family working together, proving what you needed was help, and what did you do!? Just kept it all t’ yourself, cause the rest of the world is no match for your fucking shoulders, right? If you’d asked for help, maybe we could have avoided the town-wide case of PTSD!”

His brother had no arguments beyond small, gasping cries and grunts, six fingers scrabbling for purchase against the old wood beneath him. A hard strike hit after several small ones and a gasp became a full on low, pained whine, Ford’s eyes squeezing shut against the blow.

“Then again,” Here Stan paused, slowly tracing the crop along Ford’s warmed flesh. “It probably would’ve been easier to ask for help if a certain someone hadn’t gone and shoved me out of his life, huh?”

Ford visibly stiffened, felt his stomach drop. “S-Stanley— auugh!” The chains clanked together as his back arched from a sharp blow to the middle of his bottom.

“Quiet,” Stan growled, and his voice had a legitimate thread of darkness to it, something that stole the breath from Ford’s lungs as his brother continued. “Thirty years, Ford.”

_Snap_! “Ah!”

“Thirty years in that basement teachin’ myself goddamn nuclear physics.”

_Snap_! “Aaah!”

“Thirty years runnin’ that damn fight through my head, wishing I could take it all back!”

_Snap!_ “AAH!”

“Thirty years with no idea if you were dead or alive, thirty years thinking maybe you really were better off without me, that you’ve _always_ been better off without me!”

_Snap, snap, snap_! “Ah, ah, AH!”

“Thirty years and after all that, after everything, I couldn’t get a goddamn thank you out of you, couldn’t get anything but a goddamn punch to the face!”

_Snap!_ “Ah! Stanley! Y-yellow!”

Stan paused in his assault, breathing somewhat harder. For a moment there was nothing between them but heavy breathing, a stillness to the room like a weight. “You okay?” Stan finally asked, placing a hand on Ford’s head.

Ford took a shaky breath. “Do you really…” The words caught in his throat. “I know I asked you to berate me. I know I asked you to be honest. But are you really _still_ …”

Another moment of silence. Stan gave a sigh, running his fingers through Ford’s hands. “I can’t say there aren’t some real feelings here, no. You hurt me pretty bad, Sixer. But it’s not like I didn’t do the same to you.” There was a pause. “Sorry, I probably wasn’t supposed to bring my dumbass baggage into this.”

“No, it’s not… I…” Ford took another deep, shuddering breath. “It feels better. To hear it I mean. To… it seems better to hear it, even if it hurts.”

Stan flashed a smile and Ford winced as his brother patted the reddened flesh of his bottom. “Yeah, I can tell,” Stan snickered. “You okay to keep going?”

Ford nodded.

Stan’s smile became somewhat predatory. “Good… cause I think it’s time we got to the point of this little lecture…” With those words he stepped behind his brother. Ford let out a noise of surprise as he felt his brother’s booted foot nudge at his ankles. “C’mon. Spread ‘em a bit wider… that’s it.” The tip of the crop tapped against the spot of flesh just between his more… intimate areas, beneath the fold of the left cheek, the spot so tender the lightest touch had Ford flinching. “Remember when we were kids, Ford? And you’d always lord it over me that you were the older one, and then it’d be about all those trophies and accomplishments and then it was lording over everyone else about how you knew so much more, how you were so much smarter. I think you know what this is really about, Ford…” Stan murmured.

“Pride.”

_Snap_! The crop cracked down on this tender bit of skin. Ford bucked and howled, tears coming to his eyes, thrashing as much as he could in his position. Stan pressed a hand to his back, stilling him, the lone weight holding him to Earth as Ford writhed.

“Color,” Stan breathed into his ear.

“G-green,” Ford gasped out, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears prickling at their corners.

The crop tapped at his ankles again. “Spread ‘em.”

Ford let out several gasping breaths that were more whimpers than anything. Then he did as he was told, shoulders stiffening. The crop found the spot again, this time on the opposite side. There was a moment of tense silence. “Next time you think you’re so much better than everyone else, I want you to remember this,” Stan growled.

_Snap_!

“Fuck!” Ford cursed, curling in on himself, pressing his forehead into the aged wood beneath him. He remained like for awhile, shaking, as Stan rubbed soothing circles into his clothed back, kneaded at the stiffness of his neck.

“Color, Sixer,” Stan urged him after a minute. “I know you wanted more but if you can’t—“

Ford shook his head, felt his breathing coming back under control. “Green.”

A sigh. Stan stepped away, walked back to the bed. There was a shuffling noise, followed by a hum. Finally Stan returned with the cool feel of leather against Ford’s burning ass. “Twelve with the belt, Ford. You’re gonna count ‘em and thank me after each one, understood?”

A swallow. A nod. Ford adjusted himself against the chest, stiffened his shoulders, got what little grip he could. He waited.

_Crack_! The sound was so much louder than the crop had been, a thundercrack only matched by the line of fire at the top of his ass and the memory of beatdowns in his father’s study. Ford let out howl to match, the chest shuddering on the floor as he thrashed. He then heaved against his bonds, breathing deeply.

“Ford—“

“One!” Ford gasped out.

_Crack_! Down came the belt again, a perfect stripe below the first one that had Ford kicking out with his legs, only to jolt when the shackles kept him in position. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. “Two!”

_Crack_! _Crack_! Ford strained against the shackles around his wrists, fought to grasp anything solid, found nothing but his own palms to dig his nails into. The first tears hit the wood beneath him in wet splatters. “Three, four!”

_Crack_! “Augh! Five!”

_Crack_!“S-six!” That finished the first round on his ass, had Ford gasping out hot, wet breaths before the belt went back to the top of his ass, gave him a moment’s pause to take note of the salty gum of mucus, saliva and tears coating his stubble.

_Crack_ , _crack_ , _crack_! “S-seven, eight, nine!” Ford choked the words out with a soldier’s rhythm, fought to maintain composure.

_Crack_! The tenth blow caught a particularly sharp spot that had likely already bruised, had his composure crumbling as he pressed his face into the tear-stained wood beneath him. “O-oh God, ten…”

“Two more, Ford…” Stan murmured, rubbing Ford’s back. His brother gave a hitched sob and a nod in response.

_Crack_! “E-eleven…” Ford whimpered.

There was a solid five second pause before the final blow. Then it came, a heavy, earth-shattering thing, the leather catching right at the top of Ford’s thighs and mixing an agonized scream with its powerful _CRACK_!

“TWELVE!” Ford heaved out, throwing his head back and openly weeping. His body rocked and shook, the chains holding him a jingling backdrop to thrashing that seemed closer to a tantruming child than an old man.

Stan was at his side immediately, running his fingers through Ford’s hair, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Shhh, shh, it’s okay Ford, it’s okay, shhh, you did such a good job, it’s okay, it’s over, shh…”

Ford shook his head violently and continued to thrash and shake, tugging uselessly against the shackles. “No it’s not!” He choked out. “I-it can’t be, it’s not, no!”

“Ford, it’s okay, you’ve been punished, we did what you said you wanted, it’s—“

“No it’s not!” Ford roared, his face a mask of tears, snot, and absolute pain as he beat his fists fruitlessly against the chest beneath him. “It’ll never be enough, why don’t you get that!? I ruined everything, I destroyed the whole town, I nearly got you killed, nearly got the kids killed, lost your memory, I—“ He shook his head violently, chains jerking his arms back even as he fought to push Stan away. “We’re not done!”

His brother stepped back for a moment, his face going blank as he watched this display. Ford thrashed and shook against the chest, pressed his face into the wood, the very picture of undone. Finally Stan gave a sigh ad knelt down, removing a key from his pocket. “I swear, the things I do for you, Sixer…” He murmured over the click of the shackle on Ford’s left wrist.

The noise Ford made was one of panic as he felt the weight leave his wrist, heard the metal hit the floor with a thud. “Stanley no, no, I said green! Green, damnit, Stanley what are you doing!?”

Stan ignored him, carefully undoing the shackles one by one. Then he pulled Ford to his feet, easily batting away Ford’s weak shoves.

“Stanley, stop, we’re not done, Stanley— oof!” Ford’s protests were cut off as he found himself hauled over his brother’s knees face down, his words abruptly muffled as his face was pressed into the comforter of the bed.

“You said I was in charge right now, Ford. So yeah, that means when I say you’re done, you’re done,” Stan said as he adjusted his brother in his lap. “I can see I’ve gotta drive home that little message though, so let’s get started.”

With those words he began to rain open-palmed smacks upon Ford’s up-turned, undoubtedly bright red rear. Ford let out a renewed howl of pain, rolling in Stan’s lap before he was tugged back into position with an arm around his clothed middle. There was nothing he could do but lay there and take it, each blow absolute agony against his searing behind.

“Now you listen here and you listen good, Ford,” Stan said as he continued to spank his twin. “All that shit I said to you? That’s all true. You fucked up. You fucked up _a lot_. You fucked up so much it wasn’t even your ass payin’ the price, it was the whole goddamn town, nearly the whole world! Your niece and nephew nearly died and by all accounts, I should be as good as dead in an old folks home!”

“I know!” Ford cried, legs kicking out behind him, fists clenching at the blankets. “Aaaaah, I know, and I’m sorry, Stanley! I’m so— aaaaah, I’m so sorry!”

“I know it, Ford! The kids know it, Fidds knows it, the world knows it! You’re so sorry, you’ve been sorry, you’ve been carrying this stupid weight for what, thirty years now? You fucked up and you’re so. Damn. Sorry!” Stan punctuated these last few words with three hard swats on Ford’s sit spot, eliciting more howling from his brother. “And you wanna know what else, Ford?”

“Whaaaaat!?” Ford sobbed.

“I forgive you.”

Ford froze. He went utterly still, eyes widening in shock, grip loosening on the blankets beneath him.

“Mmmhmm. That’s right,” Stan didn’t actually stop spanking, but his swats did become more gentle, lighter and punctuated with the occasional rub. “I forgive you, the kids forgive you, the world forgives you. It’s okay. The world’s okay. You did everything you could t’ make it right. It’s okay.”

The tears returned, but this time it was a quieter, more broken sort of sob. “D-don’t deserve it…” Ford whined, his shoulders finally buckling, his body going limp across Stan’s lap.

“Not up to you,” Stan growled as he laid one final swat. Then he simply rubbed Ford’s back, going back to gentle shushes and murmurs as his brother cried. The two stayed like this for some time, Ford crying openly as Stan soothed. Finally Ford’s sobs quieted, reduced to little more than hitching, hiccuping breaths and whimpers. He also began to shiver, gooseflesh prickling on his exposed legs.

“All right Sixer, let’s get you into bed,” Stan said, gently lifting his brother. Ford was completely plaint in his grasp, moving whichever way Stan directed him without a single complaint and making the whole process quite simple.

Stan shoved the still open duffle bag aside, then placed Ford on the mattress. It was a quick movement to pull the covers over Ford’s legs, though he stopped just below the reddened flesh of Ford’s bottom. “You said you bought some cream for this, right?” Stan asked as he began rummaging through the bag.

“Yes,” Ford mumbled, his voice hoarse and groggy.

“Ah, here we go.” Stan cracked open the jar in question. There was a wet noise, followed by the sound of Stan sniffing. “Yeesh, this smells like what we used t’ get Soos un-zombified.”

The cream was cold against Ford’s flesh, and the scientist let out a gasp of surprise that quickly became a sigh of relief. “The woman at the shop told me it’s the best on the market… I… ooh… I s-susp—“ His breath caught again and he gave a groan, pressing his face into the pillow beneath him.

“Careful Ford, big words are hard right now,” Stan teased gently as he continued to rub. “You doin’ okay? I know I did a real number on you, if your ass is any indication. I don’t think you’re sitting down any time soon.”

Ford let out another groan. “Yes… yes, that was exactly what I needed. You did… surprisingly well.”

Stan snorted. “I’ve got some experience kicking your ass already, beatin’ it ain’t that big of a jump.”

His brother shook his head. “Regardless… thank you, Stanley.”

“Anytime, bro,” Stan murmured. The two remained in comfortable silence for awhile, Stan carefully applying cream, Ford giving hums of approval that slowly drifted in slow, quiet breathing. Finally the cream was applied and Stan nodded at his work before wiping his hands on his pants, screwing the lid back on and setting it on the bedside table.

“‘M thinking you have the right idea,” He hummed to his dozing brother as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket and sweater. Stripping down to his boxers, Stan slipped under the covers behind his twin, wrapping a thick, protective arm over his shoulders. “Definitely time for a nap… but ‘m ordering room service in a bit, there’s no way you don’t need to eat after all that.”

Ford gave a sleepy groan. “Only if you hide the shackles.”

Stan laughed into his brother’s graying hair, giving it an affectionate toss. “Why? I already told them this was a honeymoon.” Ford elbowed him weakly in the gut. Stan laughed again. “Careful, I’ll whip you again for that kinda behavior.”

“Not if I… don’t get you first… still the older brother,” Ford mumbled into the pillow.

“Uh huh,” Stan chuckled.

They drifted off to sleep together, rocked by the imagined rhythm of the waves they’d become so accustomed to.


End file.
